Sleepwalking Hunter 3: The Aftermath Continued
by meg7200
Summary: Shawn Hunter never dreamed he'd find more to life than the suffering he was dealt. Now, the taste of a new start with Jonathon has Shawn eager to bury the past. But with his abusive father's trial looming, the memory of his perverse and bloodless brother, and a mysterious stalker re-instilling a barely mollified fear, Shawn's sleepwalking stubbornly persists !NEW NAME BUT IM BACK!
1. Chapter 1

NOW I MUST REALLY OFFER A SINCERE APOLOGY... IT IS STRANGE BUT MY ACCOUNT WAS DISABLED AND I AM UNABLE TO GO ON IT ANYMORE. SINCE I HAVE BEEN BUSY WITH SCHOOL I DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF TIME TO LOOK INTO IT, BUT I'VE FINALLY FOUND SOME TIME. I'VE MADE A NEW ACCOUNT SIMILAR TO MY OLD ONE... I WAS MEG7100 NOW I'M MEG7200 (CREATIVE I KNOW) AND I WILL PICK UP MY STORY WHERE I LEFT OFF JUST AS THE THIRD EDITION TO WHAT HAS BECOME A TRILOGY. I HOPE NOBODY HAS ANY TROUBLE FINDING THE STORY AND YOU ALL FORGIVE ME! I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BUT IT WAS VERY FRUSTRATING. ANYWAYS HERE IS MY NEXT INSTALLMENT AND THERE IS MUCH MORE TO COME! I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU HANGING.

BTW... I'm sorry I updated my rough copy just before this. I had some trouble uploading the version I first prepared and had to upload a whole new copy. I forgot that on this one I hadn't explained myself. I also included page breaks. Thanks for letting me know!

ENJOY!

* * *

Chris wiped his sleeve across his forehead, releasing a low groan. He had been folded uncomfortably in the passenger seat, quite literally baking in the police cruiser for almost two hours. He finally knew what it was like to be benched.

He made the call to act alone when a scared teenaged girl, who thought that her boyfriend was being abused, visited him. With several 9-1-1 calls from neighbours and injury reports on the minor, Chris assumed it'd be an easy arrest. The noise coming from the apartment was enough to make a complaint, but Chris knew the breaks of silence were the most lethal.

He kicked in the door, technically before he heard the scream, but justified nonetheless. For a brief second he was fazed by the feeling of déjà vu, expecting to be bursting into Nicky's apartment, despite the door not falling off its hinges. Still, Chris felt sandbagged into a state of familiarity. That is until he got to the other side of that door. Not only was no one being hurt, but Chris suddenly fell victim to what his eyes laid on.

There were two young men stark naked in front of him: one on top of the other in a position that was so unforgiving to Chris' bare eyes.

"The only crime being committed at apartment D37 is underage sex." Chris told his very furious captain over the phone. "No, I'm not insane! I heard screaming, the kid said her boyfriend was being abused: I had probable cause!"

Chris lowered the phone from his ear and even when he mimicked chucking the thing out of the stadium, he could still hear the Captain's rage-filled roaring. When Chris replaced the phone to his ear, he caught the last bit. "– the whole department look bad! You yelled they were disgusting!"

Chris gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean because they're gay! It just slipped out! I was caught off guard, Cap'n."

"You trying to cause a scandal? They're lodging a complaint. The parents are involved now and now I'm two detectives short because of incompetence!"

"EXCUSE ME?!" Unsure of whether he was more pissed off about being called incompetent himself or his emotionally disabled partner, Chris chose a standard boil-up to suffice. It made little difference.

Back at the station, Chris yelled with the Captain until he was hoarse. He could've quit, in fact he did at least twice. The Captain, unable to afford sending him home, put him with Conseiko – the most likely candidate to become next Captain, most likely because he was Captain's son-in-law.

This is why Chris found himself accordion style in the front seat of Conseiko's miniature Chevy Cavalier. Not like he'd ever wondered, but he finally understood how his Yorkie felt when he and Emily left him behind while they went shopping.

When Conseiko returned from canvassing a neighbourhood that wouldn't talk to police if they were paid, he revelled at the chance to blame Chris. "Y'know this would be a whole lot easier if you were helpin' me, Rivera."

"And why's that? Because it's a black neighbourhood and I'm …oh, black?" Chris mused.

The Latin-American detective grimaced. "You're playin' the race card? Really, man? You're the homophobe who got yourself into this mess. You can grab your own shovel and dig yourself out. Don't drag me down with you, man."

Chris rolled his eyes, cranking his window down, rigidly, in hopes of deterring any further conversation.

Conseiko didn't take the bait, merely changing the subject. "So, you're partner, man. That's some rough shit."

"Shut up, Jacob." Chris was seething.

"C'mon, I'm just being nice. I like Nicky. His old man showed me where to go for a good slice." He finally started the ignition and cut off traffic, reversing his parallel park. "So he had a meltdown, eh?"

Sure that his teeth would be grounded down to nothing by the end of the day, Chris growled, "Nick didn't have a meltdown, you spineless little fuck. He's having knee surgery from all the years of having the highest case closure rates in the department and cleaning up after you shit the bed! And if I find out you're spreading rumours about him, I'll rip you from your shitty little car by your scrawny little neck and beat your ass into next week!"

Conseiko was quiet for at least a minute. His burning face had reduced only slightly when he eventually retorted. "Maybe you're not a homophobe, Rivera."

* * *

Jonathon shut the door after a long lingering goodbye to Elizabeth. There were so many things wrong with the way he felt towards her that he could not even bear to think about or name those feelings. His responsibility to Shawn rendered him romantically incapacitated and even if they didn't, Jonathon would steer those desires away.

He picked up Shawn's sweatshirt off the floor by the chair he'd been sitting in and instead of tossing it onto the sofa, he found himself taking a page out of his mother's book, as he folded it neatly. He trudged across the carpet, resting in Shawn's doorway with a racing heart.

"Holy, Hunter! You scared me!" He clutched the sweatshirt to his chest, peering down at the teenager in front of him. "What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were out cold."

Shawn shrugged, almost absently. He was dressed in pyjamas and that was the only indicator that he'd obeyed Jonathon at all when he sent him to bed. His hair was – well, Jonathon wouldn't say neat – but certainly not at its usual state, being so prone to mimicking that of a bird's nest. No, Jonathon was justified in believing exactly what he feared.

"Were you eavesdropping on mine and Elizabeth's conversation?" Jonathon cocked an eyebrow, wishing his response to Shawn's misbehaviour could be as simple as a scolding.

Shawn hesitated, which was at least something. Jonathon never thought about how hard it would be to enforce authority on someone who only ever submitted by force. "I…uh, I heard what Miss. Barclay said, Jon."

"Shawn, I would've liked to tell you myself." Jonathon started, shocked when Shawn cut him off.

"I heard what you said, too."

Jonathon couldn't remember what that was. "What?"

"I'm sorry I've been a bad kid, Jon. I don't have anyone else, y'know. Mom and Dad were never nice to me like you are. I just wanna say thanks." Shawn spoke to his hole-y socks, but his message was loud and clear.

"Come here, kiddo." Jonathon wrapped the boy in his arms, feeling the weight melt off his shoulders. He felt the kid's skinny body fall into him and his hands clasp together, his arms around Jonathon's waist. "It's okay, buddy. Alright?" He carded his fingers through Shawn's hair. "I'm sorry I got tough with ya. We just gotta start listening to each other. Am I right?"

He felt Shawn nod against his chest and he pulled him back to make an impression. "And talking to each other, Shawn."

The teenager smirked. "You just wanna be right."

"I'm always right." Jonathon chuckled. "Alright, get to bed. It's way passed my bedtime."

"It sure is, old man."

* * *

Nicky stood in shock, drowning in the causatum of his father's outburst. He watched the man disappear into the den, which was when he felt Carlo's hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Nick. That wasn't directed at you. Here, have a seat." Carlo assured him, steering his older brother into a chair.

Nicky showed his distaste for the action too late. "I'm fine, Carlo. I'm not a china doll."

Carlo spun around the chair adjacent to Nicky and straddled it. He mumbled something that sounded like, "Sure looks like it," but Nicky let it slide.

"I'm serious, Carlo. I'm not up for whatever you're about to say."

Carlo muttered something else unintelligible and then slapped the table with purpose. "I gotta go pick up Matty."

Nicky felt dread at even the idea of a full house in combination with his condition.

"Wanna come?"

Nicky wasn't expecting it. "When I crashed my Buick in '85, you promised me I'd never even sit in one of your cars. Your statement's held true so far, Carlo, don't tell me you're a liar."

"I only said that because you wouldn't let me drive yours!" Carlo grinned.

"You were fifteen! Pop would've killed me, you little shit."

Carlo stood and rubbed his oil slick hands on a tea towel. "Come on, mini road trip. The Adams brothers against the world. Just like old times! What do you say?"

"Old times? Who's childhood are you talkin' about?" Nicky couldn't resist a smirk.

"If you play your cards right, Nicky, I'll let you have dibs on beatin' up Matty all the way home."


	2. Chapter 2

THANKS FOR YOUR REVIEWS! THEY REALLY MADE ME HAPPY! I'D FORGOTTEN HOW NICE IT FEELS TO PUBLISH MY WORK AND HOW MUCH I LOVE WRITING.

ANYWAYS, HERE'S ANOTHER CHAPTER FOR YOU! I WANT TO HAVE A CHRISTMAS CHAPTER UP HERE, TOO. I'VE GOT SOME IDEAS FOR IT, SO HOPEFULLY I GET IT DONE WITHIN THE NEXT FEW DAYS, MOST LIKELY NOT ON CHRISTMAS, BUT PROBABLY BEFORE THE NEW YEAR.

SO MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE IN CASE I CAN'T POST BEFORE THE OFFICIAL HOLIDAY. I HOPE YOU ALL HAVE A SAFE AND BLESSED HOLIDAY AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR WITH ALL YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY!

XOXO MEG 3

* * *

It takes two hours and twenty minutes to get from Jersey City to New Haven, Connecticut. Nicky had never felt like less of a cop than when he stared down the I-95 with Carlo in the driver's seat, having covered more than 50 miles in under an hour. Nicky was too afraid to look at the barometer, but his nauseated stomach was evidence enough of their high speed.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Carlo's attention.

"What are you looking at?" Carlo raised an eyebrow, peering into his rear-view mirror to see for himself.

"Just checking to see if anyone's chasing us."

"Why would someone be…" Carlo trailed off, realizing Nicky's sarcasm. He gave him a shove and a tight-lipped smirk, but otherwise did nothing to demonstrate he'd taken Nicky's complaint to heart.

Nicky gripped the door handle while his younger brother weaved around two cars. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Carlo, appearing on the 5 o'clock news in a high-speed police chase will not get me my job back! Do you understand?"

"Relax, Nick! I've been driving like this since my feet could reach the pedals!" He shot Nicky a look. "So have you!"

Nicky grasped the back of his brother's seat, his eyes accidentally laying on the barometer. "Carlo, you're doing 130 mph! Are you insane?! I didn't even have to go over 110 when I took down a serial killer on the Pennsylvania interstate last year!"

"Did he have his victim in the car?"

"Why?"

Carlo licked his lip, pensively, and answered him with a shrug. "Well, because he'd be trying to blend in if he had his victim with him."

Nicky flashed his raised eyebrows in his direction. "The fact that you know that terrifies me." He asserted, shifting his weight in attempt to relax his tense muscles. "Just don't get yourself arrested. I'm in no position to call in any favours."

_Nicky could hardly stand being in the car a second longer. His legs were stiff, his little brothers wouldn't stop whining, and he was feeling pain in a place that he didn't want to think about. _

_The young family was on their way to the airport to see their mother off. Her aunt had died in Sicily and she was returning home for the funeral, so it wasn't exactly a cheery outing already, but Nicky had good reason to believe they'd never get there._

_A 6-year-old Matthew hugged a bear to his little chest, his cheeks flushed and tear stained from agitation. An 11-year-old Carlo couldn't seem to stop flicking the younger boy's ear and it took only seconds for Matthew's wailing to begin._

"_Carlo Davide, __comportati bene!__ Leave your brother alone!" Their mother scolded, landing a slap on Carlo's knee. _

"_Matty started it!" Carlo smiled, sliding his arm around Matthew's shoulders, annoyingly. _

_Matthew sucked his upper lip while trying to escape his brother's hold._

"_No, he didn't, Carlo. Leave him alone." Nicky muttered, as his fingernails found a familiar place on his wrist. _

_Nicky glimpsed his father's eyes on him in the rear-view, before the man barked at his middle child. "Carlo Davide, I will stop this car and teach you a lesson right now, young man!" _

_Carlo dropped his arms and instead folded his hands in his lap, solemnly. Not to be fooled, Nicky knew this peace was only temporary._

_He caught his father's eye in the rear-view one last time before he slid his hand up his sleeve and scraped his nails deeper over his scabbed wrists._

* * *

"I don't know, baby. Whatever you think." Chris gripped the phone tighter, completely aware that he'd said the wrong thing. In truth, he couldn't concentrate on the wedding or the stag or anything that wasn't trying not to get fired. He was angry, restless, and his superiors had his ass under a microscope. All because of Nicky and his coming clean about burying his childhood abuse, Chris was viewed as having betrayed his brothers in blue. He was a traitor to all.

Chris had tried to help Nicky, tried to help him deal without revealing anything. He had tried to do the right thing and get him the help he needed of family, the captain off his ass, and a shrink even, but still no one trusted him. He didn't like the position he'd been put in. He didn't ask to be there without any allies and he couldn't take the new image the rest of the force viewed him in. He wasn't this person. He hated being hated.

"Are you listening to me? Christopher!"

Chris breathed deeply before responding. "Babe, I hear you, but I am having the worst day possible. I can't think about any of this right now. You're doing a good job. I trust you. Just… whatever you think, Emily."

"This isn't just my wedding, Chris. I'm not just going to plan it all the way I want and then find out years later that you hated it. And you know, I don't exactly have all the time in the world, either. UPenn finals are coming up and I'm only halfway through marking term papers. Dr. Geist is riding me like a…like something you ride, I don't know! But he wants them done. SO if you want to get married…!"

"Getting married? Who said anything about that?" He waited a beat, sure he didn't need to test the waters, because the ice was pretty damn thin already. "Look, can we at least talk about this when I get home? I've gotta go get doors slammed in my face."

"That's not a bad idea." Emily breathed, clearly having reached the end of her patience.

"Just tell me you love me."

Chris hung up the phone, feeling confident that he could at least make one right decision. Emily was the love of his life and he needed her more than he needed his bulletproof vest. He lacked words to describe how she made him feel and it made him smile, knowing that her Ivy League education provided her with the ability to describe what they had between them just fine and beautifully at that.

He found himself a sweet little school girl on her way to becoming a Political Science Professor. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and she found a way to leave Chris breathless every day. She was incredible and Chris felt he was the luckiest man alive.

Chris stuffed his phone in his pocket and looked up with a smile, still enchanted by his fiancée's voice. His gaze met Sergeant Conseiko's in the driver's seat next to him, who tore off a bite of his burger with a shit-eating grin. Chris felt his mood deplete instantly.

"Who you talking to, Rivera? Nicky? He's the only one you call 'baby', ain't he?"

Chris forced a chuckle, feeling his fists clench, heedlessly. "If I didn't know better, Jacob, I'd think you were trying to get your ass kicked."

Conseiko slurped his soda and spoke with a mouth as smart as it was full of food. "You better watch how you talk to your superior, Rivera. I could get you suspended with no pay. That pretty fiancée of yours wouldn't like that much, would she?"

Chris grabbed the sergeant by his white collar and pushed his forearm, painfully, into his scrawny chest. "You're harassing me and it's going to stop right here, right now. I could file a complaint against you faster than I could flatten that filthy little nose of yours. After I do that, not even daddy-in-law could get you that promotion." He released him slightly to gather a firmer grip. Conseiko jumped at the quick maneuvering. "And if you ever do so much as look at my fiancée again, I'll put you through the pavement." He said lowly, before letting the idiot go.

Climbing from the car, Chris pulled out a file with him and opened it on the roof. He read the reports from front to cover, finding what he already knew. They were searching for witnesses to a kidnapping of a twelve-year-old boy, last seen getting into a wood panelled station wagon three days prior. The boy's mother called in a panic, against the wishes of her friends and neighbours for infuriating racial reasons. Chris knew better than any of his co-workers that growing up in racially segregated neighbourhoods caused strife in the community. But his father was a navy seal, thus earning his family a status that could not be ignored.

He, unlike many of his own family members, did not grow up in a poor neighbourhood. He grew up down the street from Nicky's family in Jersey City, used to being the black kid in an Italian dominated city. Despite the kinds of anecdotes one could conjure up with that knowledge, Chris enjoyed his childhood the way it unravelled. He didn't find himself the subject of prejudices for being Black any more than Nicky did for being a 'wop'. Unfortunately, Philadelphia was a different story.

"I say we pan out. These people are scared. These are mothers scared for their children."

"That's all the more reason for them to tell us what they know so we can catch this mother fucker!" Conseiko yelled, unnecessarily, as he too pulled himself from the car. "It's been more than 72 hours, they should know that he's dead and the sicko's looking for his next vic."

Chris tightened his jaw and answered him, convincingly. "What don't you understand about, they don't trust cops? We're supposed to show them that we're helping them not, 'we failed, so put the lives of your children in our hands'. We're lookin' for a brown panelled station wagon. How many of those do you see around these days? We should be looking for witnesses who've seen a car like that go by."

"And we haven't been doin' that? What's your point, Rivera?"

"We're not asking the right people. We should be talking to convenience store employees, grocery stores, porn shops, elementary schools."

"We've already analyzed gas station footage and pulled up nothin'. It could be stolen and he ditched it after he snatched the boy."

"If he ditched it we would've found it by now, which means he's hiding it. Paedophiles don't just snatch any kid, they usually know them and stalk them. The kid got in the car willingly, which indicates that he knew him. We're talkin' teacher, neighbour, or just someone he ran into often enough to arouse." Chris regretted wording it that way, immediately.

"We're asking people if they by chance happened to catch the license plate number of an old car three days ago."

"We're asking if they saw anything out of the norm? If they happen to know the kind of guy who'd drive such a piece of shit car. At least this way we might get something in particular to ask these people."

"Sounds damn good to me." Conseiko said, returning to the driver's seat. "You are good for something, Rivera. Who knew?"

* * *

Shawn had stared at the dark ceiling above him for hours before he finally gave up on the hope for sleep and rolled until his feet hit the floor. It hurt; his ankle was still sore from his sprint from the party with Cory, also sparking memories of why he had run in the first place.

Despite how terrified he'd become, Shawn hadn't the slightest idea of who that creepy guy in the tree line could have been.

The anxiety was weighing on his young, fragile body and no sooner after having gotten out of bed did he feel compelled to lay back down, this time on the living room couch. He put on an episode of the Simpsons, finding himself unable to turn off his cluttered mind.

Shawn couldn't help but think that this freak who had visited him in his bedroom and now stalked him to a party could be someone he knew. What if he was not one of Eddie's friends. He was older. Too old to be hanging around with Eddie's crowd. And somehow, the notion of a complete stranger stalking and terrifying him was even more unsettling, which left him with a gut wrenching feeling.

What if it was Chet? What if it was someone Chet knew? He imagined what Jonathon would say if he told him. In between yelling at him, he'd probably concede that Chet was simply trying to intimidate Shawn into denying Chet's guilt in abusing him. But even Shawn knew that it was a long shot and a huge risk to do something so stupid. Not that Shawn thought his father was above that kind of act, but he just didn't think he'd ever be able to come up with a scheme of that nature on his own.

Shawn turned his head slowly having felt Jonathon's presence without needing him to announce himself. His gaze lingered on the screen until the scene ended and he reluctantly shifted his eyes to find his guardian to explain why he'd gotten out of bed. But he couldn't find him.

Shawn felt his blood run cold in his veins. He muted the TV and sat, holding his breath in silence. No other noise besides a ticking clock could be heard for miles.

"Jon?" Shawn whispered, afraid his voice would muffle any movement in the apartment. "Jon, is that you?"

Sitting there in nothing but light from the TV was uncanny and suddenly, Shawn became wary that he was nothing but a sitting duck. He jumped off the couch and tripped over the coffee table, barely catching his balance. He was further from the TV light and facing a good square footage that was drenched in darkness.

Abruptly, there was a bang and the only thing preventing Shawn from hitting the floor fearing his life was the loud, ear-splitting meow that followed. He edged slowly toward the kitchen window and found a brown cat dusting off his paws next to the dumpster.

In time with Shawn's belated exhale, another bang sounded that did not originate from the back parking lot. It was the sound of a door slamming, which sent Shawn running back towards the couch. He heard a squeak. No, it was a scrape and it reminded him of that absurd folklore about the ghost with the hook for a hand.

It wasn't a hook; however, he was correct about the noise. It was metal scraping against metal. It was the turning of the front doorknob and Shawn watched it twist, slowly and dauntingly from his post on the couch until it could turn no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Sooo... I think I'm just going to have to stop making promises... I'm busy and my priorities lay with school and getting into law school. I really love to write and this story, I'll be honest with you, I still think a lot about even though I'm not writing it, it's fun. I plan to finish it and it could take me some time but I don't forget the ideas I come up with when I'm daydreaming in lecture. I will not leave you hanging indefinitely. I may take unannounced hiatus' but I will finish. So thanks for sticking it out with me and thanks for your lovely comments. I hope you like this chapter :)

* * *

Shawn felt his heart thudding in his chest. The pulsating sound filled his ears, as he strained himself waiting for the door to finally open. It didn't. Shawn stared at the knob while counting the seconds in anticipation. However, there was nothing left to be heard except his own heavy breathing.

After the several minutes it took to muster up the courage, Shawn leaped over the back of the couch from his perch there, hidden behind the cushions. He hesitated briefly, awaiting any further noise.

As his heart rate began to even, Shawn remained frozen between the living room and the bedrooms, staring at the locked front door before him. Shawn, having just heard that door slam shut, was sure that someone had just left the apartment…and locked the door behind them.

Shawn felt a chill overcome him at the thought and his breathing hitched, as he ran his hands over goose bump covered arms. He shot toward the bedrooms, seeking a type of weapon. He skidded in front of Jonathan's bedroom door, instantly forgetting his original plan in desperation. He opened the door and wasted no time in waking his guardian.

"Jon! Jon, there was someone in the apartment! I think they have a key! Jon, wake up!"

Jonathan was barely asleep for an hour when he found Shawn standing over him. "What is it, kid?" He asked, rolling onto his elbow.

The 15-year old was looking green and shaking so violently, he was almost vibrating. "It's…It's…" He was suddenly incapable of speech.

Jonathan rewound the words that stole him from his unconsciousness. When the shock struck him, he thought his heart was about to pop out of his chest. "What did you say, buddy? Someone broke in, again? Shawn, talk to me!" Jonathan had his hands on the kid's shoulders, as he yanked himself from his bed. Never before had he ever despised the peacefulness of sleep. In this moment, he was enlightened to its illusionary safety. Evidently, his house was vulnerable when Jonathan was unconscious.

There were tears dripping from Shawn's chin by the time Jonathan could force him to sputter out a word. "Someone…Someone slammed the door! They're comin' to get me, Jon!" He was frantic.

"Stay here, boy." Jonathan said, coolly. He felt something cold bursting through his veins. His body stiffened and his eyes saw nothing besides the urge to pounce. He was primal, he was targeted in his natural habitat, he must protect his own.

Jonathan grabbed the bat that he kept ready at the door. A heavy, Louisville slugger — signed by Dan Driessen — but an effective choice of weaponry, since his arsenal was running a tad nonexistent. He turned on every light in the apartment, making as much noise as possible to divert any intruder from making a break for it. He hadn't wanted to swing his bat more since he was on the varsity team in college and his coach ordered him to bunt. He scanned the living room and kitchen first, gradually moving from room to room, closet to closet, until he confirmed that the apartment was, indeed, empty. He stopped outside his bedroom door and frowned. _What did he say? …a key? _

Jonathan spun around, his bat poised firmly over his shoulder. The front door was locked. The door knob, the dead bolt…everything except the chain. The chain that Jonathan checked every night religiously before turning in. He was so sure he'd latched the door just hours before that he felt sick to his stomach.

He burst into the bedroom — he felt guilty when he realized he almost gave the kid a heart attack — and picked Shawn up off the floor. "This is really important, Shawn. Did you unlatch the chain on the door, tonight? It's okay if you did. I won't be mad. I just need you tell me the truth. Did you go out tonight, Shawn?"

"I didn't! I swear, Jon!" Jonathan couldn't have pulled a different reaction out of the kid if he'd put a gun to his head.

"Shawn, shhh. It's okay. You're not in trouble! Just tell me the truth. Was the chain on the door when you went to bed?"

"I didn't go to bed! I'm sorry! I was just watching TV!" Shawn was already inconsolable.

"I don't care about that. It's okay. You can watch TV." Jonathan paused, wondering why Shawn didn't already know that. "So you're sure you didn't take the chain off the door?"

"Yes! I swear."

Jonathan couldn't swallow when he tried. "Okay, here's what you're going to do. Go in your room and get dressed. Pack some clothes for tomorrow in your schoolbag and make it quick."

Shawn's eyes grew wide. "What? Why? I didn't do anything! I—"

Jonathan could hardly accept what he was hearing, but now wasn't the time to fret over the boy's lack of dignity. He put a hand behind his neck and gave him his most meaningful look. "You didn't do anything. It's not safe for us to stay here. Someone broke in and I don't know how, but we need to go somewhere else. You go pack a bag, right now, and be back here in five minutes, okay? Do you understand?"

It took a few seconds, but Shawn eventually nodded.

"Good boy. Don't think, okay? Just do as I say. Everything's gonna be okay, Hunter. I promise."

The kid went flying out the door just as Jonathan's breathing began to escalate. What was it about this boy? Why couldn't he be left alone? Jonathan had had no idea what it meant when he promised to protect Shawn. He'd had no idea what he was agreeing to protect him from.

Shawn was back in an instant, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, his backpack slung over his shoulder. "I'm ready," he told his guardian, running both hands through his hair. "Let's get out of here."

Jonathan nodded, stepping into a pair of his own jeans. He hated the feeling of his leather jacket on his sweat dampened arms, but was too pressed for time to care. He grabbed his wallet off his dresser and found his keys in his jeans pocket. "Okay."

He followed Shawn out into the living room before he stopped him. "Wait. Let me go first." He said, sticking his arm out in front of Shawn's chest from behind.

Shawn didn't argue like the kid Jonathan once knew would have. He fell into step behind Jonathan, inserting a firm hand around Jonathan's bicep.

When Jonathan opened the door, he half expected to be shanghai'd by the intruder himself. But the hallway was empty, silent, and ominous. Jonathan locked the door behind him, keeping a grip on Shawn while he had his back turned. He spun around instinctively, still to an empty hallway, and led Shawn out to the parking lot like he were blind. He took off on the Harley at 90 mph, having no idea where to head.

* * *

Carlo and Nicky bickered all the way to Connecticut. He probably thought his insolence served as a distraction, but realistically, Nicky's anxiety was off the charts since he climbed into the Chevy Impala with Carlo.

Once they pulled up in front of the student centre at Yale University, Nicky felt two doses of dread and one of relief to see his baby brother standing there with a duffel bag over his shoulder. The look on Matthew's face accounted for the surge of anxiety that ran through him, but damn it'd been so long. The kid had grown up.

Nicky leaped from the car before Matthew could even reach the handle. He looked surprised, but like a switch he dropped his bag abruptly and his face lit up like a match.

"Matty!" Nicky croaked, crushing his brother in a firm hug. "What did you do with my baby brother?" He released him. "What's that? There's a squirrel on your face, kid." He joked, slapping Matthew's prickled face.

"I didn't even know you were coming, Nick! This is great." Matthew grinned, simultaneously accepting a hug from Carlo.

Carlo slipped Matthew into a headlock, messing up his hair in due process. "That's right the boys are back in town. What do you think, Nick? Will we make his life complete hell this week or just a little?" He jested, giving Matthew a few pretend punches before letting him straighten.

"Ah, I don't know. It's been a long time and I'm sure he's got a few ass kickings comin' to him. Like taking over my room. Eh, what's up with that?" Nicky teased, shoving him, lightly.

Matthew laughed. "Hey, you should take that up with Ma. I mean, you should've heard her after the two of you left. I received full confirmation that Ma and Pop love me best."

Nicky caught the look Carlo was giving him. "Mhmm, like we didn't already know that."

The car in behind the boys honked suddenly, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere, wanting their spot for pickups.

Nicky watched Matthew blush as he suggested, "maybe we should hit the road."

Carlo went around to the driver's side, while Matthew made a move for shotgun.

"You wish, kid." Nicky laughed, knocking him back. He paused. "Still working off that freshman fifteen, huh?"

After being on the road for a mere twenty minutes, the brothers were back to bickering.

"Gimme a break! You can't just write off a whole restaurant because you got a bad hotdog. It's a pizza place not a street meat vendor. They do pizza. That's it."

Matthew choked down his soda, eager to retort and unwilling to wait for minor things like swallowing to do it. "There was a _fingernail _in it! A fingernail! Not just a clipping, a whole nail. That has nothing to do with a recipe and everything to do with sanitary violations. And, by the way, the fact that you just referred to a hotdog stand as if it's gourmet standard makes your opinion heretofore invalid."

Carlo snorted. "'Heretofore invalid'? Oh, I'm sorry professor. I forgot I was talking to Dr. Who."

"Shut up, you're an idiot." Matthew sulked in the backseat, evidently nothing having changed since his teen-angst days.

Nicky, having just warmed up enough to participate, chimed in. "I might have to walk home, your voice is starting to make my ears bleed."

"Yeah, you do that. Skinny little faggot_. _Probably fall on your ass after 2 miles and wither away in an hour." And just like that, Nicky regretted coming along at all. Carlo was so breezy when he said it. It was so quick off the tongue, like he'd been thinking it. The words were sitting right there at the brink just waiting for one slip of the tongue to come spilling out. It was the kind of thing they would've said to each other as teenagers, but they weren't teenagers anymore. Now it was laced with an underlying meaning. Now it was pure conviction.

"Excuse me? Faggot? You think I'm a faggot? Why do you think, Carlo? What piece of information do you have on me that might make you think that? Why don't you pull over right now so I can beat the shit out of you?!" Nicky had spent fifteen years taking it on the chin, but he wore no armour these days.

"Jesus, Nicky. You know I didn't mean it like that. I'm used to messing around with my brother. That's all this is." Carlo didn't pull over, but his attention was completely drawn away from the road.

Nicky could hardly believe that this guy had a perfect driving record. "Pull the fuck over." His voice was icy.

"Come on, Nicky. Take it easy. He was just kidding." Matthew tried, sitting forward.

Nicky's eyes shot daggers at the young man. "Shut up."

"It's okay, Matty." Carlo was onto the shoulder and slamming on the breaks a second later.

"Get out."

Carlo scoffed. "What are you doing? Leaving me here?"

"I said, get out!" Nicky bellowed, his ears popping at the abrupt volume.

When Carlo had finally capitulated and stood at the passenger side on the dusty shoulder, Nicky opened his door and climbed out.

He could feel Matthew lingering behind him. "Let's get one thing straight." His voice was loud enough to overcome the noise of the highway.

Carlo let his brother approach him, as his brow creased with concern. "Nicky, you need to calm down."

"You think I'm so weak. Sure, you all do. Well, I'll tell ya something. Even at my weakest point, I can still kick your ass six ways from Sunday. I'm your big brother and I've been beatin' your ass since the day you've been born."

Carlo stifled a laugh. "Are you kidding me? You wanna have a pissing contest? Nicky, you are so out of line!"

"Come on, guys. Let's just go home." Matthew moaned, a hint of fear in his voice.

"I don't want to have a pissing contest! I want you to stop looking at me like that and respect me the way you used to!" Nicky couldn't feel anything but rage. He enclosed the distance between him and Carlo, grabbing his collar roughly. "What the hell do I do to be who I used to be?!"

Carlo's eyes were full of tears and Nicky was about to give up when he felt Matthew's hands on his arms. He swiftly spun around and his right hook collided with Matthew's cheek.

The kid fell to the ground with a groan.

"SHIT!" Before Nicky could react, Carlo had him pinned. He slammed him against the Impala and Nicky felt himself crumble on the inside.

He did it again before he spoke. "You listen to me. You can't be who you used to be! Don't you see that?! That was a lie! Just look at yourself. You did this to YOURSELF!" His voice was furious, but the way his hands trembled around Nicky told him he was just as fearful.

Nicky could feel tears on his cheeks, but lacked the mobility to hide it beneath the weight of his brother. "Just let me go." He choked, his shame stemming from his lack of strength. Everything he'd said was a lie. He couldn't fight Carlo. He was bigger and stronger, but mostly he was better. Better by every definition.

Carlo stole a glance over his shoulder at Matthew, who was just beginning to climb to his feet. Carlo's grip got stronger. "You ever lay a hand on him again, I'll put you out for a week. Do you understand me?"

Nicky felt sick. The thought of himself completely nauseated him. He was the monster he tried to suppress. He was everything he hated. "I'm not gay." The whole of it. Everything boiled down to a definition and now not even that applied.

Carlo shook his head. "No. You're just sick."

* * *

Jonathan wasted no time in making his decision. He felt it impossible to make a wrong one when he could feel Shawn's arms around his waist, holding on for dear life in more ways than one. He needed Jonathan to put his feelings aside. He needed the best.

The frustration that Jonathan felt revolved around his notion of injustice. Once, the boy on the back of his bike was the battered son of a drunk. Then, he was the battered son of a drunk and the plaything of his half-brother child molester. Now, he's the battered son of a drunk, the plaything of a child molester, and the target of a degenerate stalker. Jonathan feared tomorrow for the boy.

When Jonathan first brought Shawn to the police, he had a team of detectives, who despite minor differences — Nicky's intuition that Shawn was hiding a key piece of the puzzle and that it was Jonathan's treatment of him — gave Jonathan the support he needed and faith to carry him into the next morning. But somehow he was only down to one detective, a lawyer who — though attractive — wouldn't leave Jonathan alone about the trial, and a half-shattered life that he couldn't piece together even if he tried.

He ignored Shawn when they pulled up in front of Nicky's apartment building in stead of the police station. This man had given Shawn's case everything he had to give and more. He gave up his safeguard when he thought Shawn was going to jump off of the hospital roof. He made Jonathan believe that he could get Shawn past this horrible reality and then he disappeared.

He understood that it wasn't easy. He understood what it did to Nicky. After all, he had witnessed the scene of Chris and Nicky's father carrying his drunken mess of a son out from that very building to his car. Perhaps it was fear, or maybe it was that notion of injustice that made Jonathan believe that he had to prevent things from getting any worst than they already were even if fate begged for it. Maybe he was selfish, but Jonathan felt no guilt when he silenced a frantic Shawn, led him up the stairs, and began to hammer on the door of Nicky's apartment.

* * *

I know that some of you asked for more scenes with Cory in it, so I'm sorry I couldn't deliver. It's just that since I decided to make this story about Shawn and not Cory, I had to pull in a lot of outside characters to help secure a background for his character. Now with all of those storylines going on it's hard to write in the main character of the actual show, because I neglected to tie him in with this character arc. Personally, I don't see much need for Cory in this story. Don't misunderstand me, I do intend on bringing him in, but just like in real life, he'll have a lot of trouble understanding Shawn's situation and will see that it's probably best that he gives his friend a little space until he gets everything together. If you recall, The Matthews' hired a Private Investigator to help with Shawn's case in the second book, so I intend on giving the whole family another go at being involved in the story. I know it's been a long time and I've brought in a lot of events, but try to remember them all because they're all about to tie in and make one really big event that is coming really close to happening.

Thanks for putting up with me! Let me know what your thoughts are on what I've said, your ideas, and thoughts on this chapter. Thanks you guys, I'll update again soon.

xoxo Meg


	4. Chapter 4

I'VE BEEN SITTING ON THIS CHAPTER FOR MONTHS. THOUGHT IT WAS HIGH TIME I PUBLISHED IT. SORRY FOR THE DELAY, BUT AS IT TURNS OUT, AFTER THREE YEARS OF WRITING YOU GET A LITTLE DETACHED. I STILL THINK ABOUT THIS STORY OCCASIONALLY AND CAN'T HELP BUT WRITE IT IN MY HEAD WITHOUT TIME TO PUT IT ALL TOGETHER IN A NEAT LITTLE DOCUMENT. BUT EVENTUALLY I WILL FINISH THIS STORY. A PROMISE IS A PROMISE.

THANKS FOR STICKING IT OUT WITH ME. YOUR REVIEWS ALWAYS MAKE ME SMILE.

HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE.

XX MEG

* * *

\- THURSDAY - 4:30 PM -

The tension in Carlo ran from his neck all the way down his legs. His hand was set to crush the wheel in his grip, the other methodically scratching against the grain of his stubbled cheek. He had no thoughts, just a heaviness in his gut that felt like a projection of every negative emotion that ever plagued mankind.

Traffic was bumper to bumper and the sun was blindingly bright; although, Carlo mused to himself, it may as well have been concealed by rainclouds. The silence in the car set Carlo on edge even further. He had just opened his mouth to beg for someone to say anything when he heard Nicky gasp beside him. His brother was sobbing like a baby and Carlo lost all desire to engage with him. He couldn't begin to understand what he'd been through. Having spent his formidable years under the tutelage of a pedophile screwed up Nicky in ways that Carlo couldn't even begin to understand. What Carlo could comprehend, however, was that the decade and a half Nicky spent hiding it did him a disservice of biblical proportions.

He checked Matthew in the rearview. His lanky limbs were draped across the backseat, almost comically since the kid was so damned tall. Carlo was willing to bet on there not being a backseat Matthew could squeeze into without looking exhaustively awkward. Matthew met his gaze in the mirror, a nice bright shiner on his cheek. Just perfect, Carlo thought. Bring Ma home her baby and have to explain the bruise on his face.

Carlo sighed, turned up AC/DC's "Hard as a Rock" on the radio, and eased his foot onto the gas. Traffic was finally picking up.

* * *

\- FRIDAY - 2:00 AM -

Jonathan silenced Shawn for the third time in ten minutes. He stood next to him in the hallway of Nicky's building watching him with befuddled eyes while Jonathan wailed mercilessly on Nicky's door.

By the time the half-naked girl with the tattoo of a line of Kurt Cobain's suicide note on her pelvic area appeared to ream him out for waking her, Jonathan was about ready to give up. Because the first two times of calling Shawn's name didn't work, Jonathan physically steered him away from the cross-looking bimbette.

"I'm going, I'm going." Shawn complained, as Jonathan ushered him away.  
"Focus, Hunter!" Jonathan thought he might've smiled had the circumstances been different.

"Why did we even come here, Jon? I thought Nicky didn't wanna deal with me anymore."

Jonathan studied the boy's face. He even victimized himself. "That's not why, Shawn. He just needed some time to himself. Imagine doing what he did for us, all day, everyday."

"That didn't answer my question, Jon." Shawn crossed his arms when they hit the bottom of the stairs. Jonathan had no sufficient answer for him, so he lied. "I just wanted to talk to him. Doesn't matter, we'll just go to the police station. Trust me, everything's going to be okay."

* * *

\- THURSDAY - 4:00 PM -

Chris hoped that the detective uniform was enough to get a sales associate's attention. The porn shop was shamelessly packed and Chris figured it was likely with the cast of Happiness. Not only did the customers not grow embarrassed at the site of two cops, but they seemed to welcome them in a way that could only be sinister. That was true for the ladies at least, Chris mused, recalling the last time he was goggled at like that was in college when he and his friends dressed in sexually explicit cop costumes as a joke. But this time his badge was real, his uniform lacked any resemblance to a speedo, and he was yearning to scrub himself down in holy water the first chance he got. The Special Victims Unit hadn't turned him into an altar boy. It simply drew out the location of love and passion for him, which, he learned, was far away from the perversion of society.

Conseiko, on the other hand, might've just walked in on his own personal heaven with his body still in tact and unseparated from his dark little soul. He held up something - of which its use and where it was supposed to go Chris didn't understand - with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Quit fucking around." Chris frowned, avoiding eye contact with a man holding a leather bra up to his chest across the aisle. "Excuse me." A woman - wearing tight jeans, a low-cut sweater, and a

Loveshack keychain around her neck - crossed in front of Chris. She stopped in front of him. "You boys real cops or are you messin' around? 'Cause I've got a crapload of shipments to unpack tonight and-?" "We're real cops, ma'am." Conseiko tossed a rubber paddle into a cardboard bin and appeared at Chris' side.

"We're looking for someone who may have stood out to you over the past few months."

The woman raised her eyebrows, evidently shock-stricken.

Chris cleared his throat. "A child went missing earlier this week. Perhaps you've noticed a middle aged man coming in here who seemed a little off to you?

Specifically we're looking for a brown panelled station wagon."

The woman shrugged. "Sorry, honey. I don't see much of the parking lot from in here and depending on the night, we see quite a few nut balls." "What about any kids?"

Chris wished more than ever he had come alone. "Kids, sergeant?" He asked his partner.

"Yes, detective." He shot him a determined glare. "Any teenagers try to come in here?"

The woman started to look uneasy. "Hey, we only serve 18 years and older. That's all."

"I said 'try to come in' not get served." Conseiko said, crossing his arms.

"Look, I ain't looking for any trouble."

"A little boy was taken from his neighbourhood by a man driving that kind of car. He isn't the first child to go missing from around here and we're trying to prevent it from happening again. We have reason to believe that this guy lives around here. Do you have kids?" Conseiko had grown red in the face to Chris' surprise.

The woman nodded. "Feel like telling the truth now?"

She looked embarrassed, but took her time responding. "When I first started here, say six or seven years ago, I used to see a brown wagon like that in the parking lot. I never knew whose it was but it was usually there when I finished my shift an hour before close. I used to finish at 8 o'clock so I could be home in time to say goodnight to my boys. I hadn't seen it around in ages."

Chris' mind resembled a jigsaw puzzle. "You hadn't seen it?"

"So a couple of kids pulled up in it. How long ago?" Conseiko prompted her.

"I don't know if it's the same car! I saw one kid, messy-looking - y'know the type. He got out-"

"Front or back?"

"Back! I didn't see the driver. He came walking up to the door and when he saw me looking at him, he turned around and ran. He didn't go back to the car, I have no idea where he went. He ran in the other direction and then the car took off."

Chris swallowed. "After him?

"No, I don't know. That street out there's a one-way so if he wanted to chase him, he'd have to go around the block." The woman's forehead was creased. "I didn't know this was anything important at the time, officers."

Conseiko nodded. "It's Detective and Sergeant, ma'am. License plate?"

"No." She paused. "I mean, I didn't get one. I mean, I didn't see it. I thought it was just some kids trying to get porno stuff. I didn't know..." She trailed off.

Chris assured her. "Ma'am, you're not in trouble. We just need you to remember everything you can that might be relevant."

"That's about all I can think of, honey." She nodded, resolutely. "Alright, well Detective Rivera here is going to give you his card."

Chris reached for his pocket. "I want your name and telephone number, ma'am. Just in case we need to reach you."

* * *

\- THURSDAY - 5:30 PM -

The boys pulled up in front of the house in Jersey City a half hour later than Tony Adams expected and when he saw his youngest stumble from the car with a bruise on his cheek, he understood.

"Cristo santo! Carlo Davide, what have you done?"

The twenty-five year old lingered behind the open door of his car for a moment before advancing toward his father. "Pop, I need to talk to you."

"Cristo, Carlo! Your little brother? You idiot!" Tony was furious and rightly so with what his family was going through.

"Dad, just listen to me a second. It was Nicky. He's not okay, Pop. I don't know what I can do for him." Carlo's voice was exasperated.

Tony swallowed. His eldest boy was taking his time climbing out of the Chevy Impala, but his efforts to prolong confrontation were useless. Even with Tony's bad knee, his stride was only partially faltering. He could feel Carlo at his heels when he ordered Matthew into the house, who retorted: "Pop, it's not a big deal.

Let's just spend some time with the family. C'mon I just got home."

Tony waved him off, turning his attention to Nicky. "Talk, boy."

Nicky looked no larger than a child. It was his thirteen-year-old son before him. The one he failed fifteen years ago. This thirteen-year-old Nicholas had been haunting his son ever since his abuse. Now, the ghost was apparent to Tony and it would remain so for it had unfinished business. Or so it felt this way. Tony was certain that his conscience was in the clutches of something evil.

"Nicholas!" He prompted him once more in a warning tone. Nicky's face was blotchy and tear-stained. He shrank under Tony's gaze, but he forced himself to look at his son. For too long he looked in the other direction.

"I can't talk, Pop. I can't." He removed his eyes from his sneakers and looked somewhere between his father and brother.

Carlo took a step closer. "It's okay, Nicky. Let's just go inside and take a load off."

"I'm going home." Nicky said, almost inaudibly.

"What? No, take it easy for a second. Get your shit together, bro." Carlo's voice shook.

Tony put a hand on Carlo's shoulder, hoping it would relax him. There wasn't a way to help Nicky in an emotional state. Emotions were what chased Nicky away.

"I can't stand this...what I caused. I need to go and fix my... head." He let out a long breath and pushed his fingers through his hair. "Tell Ma I'm sorry."

"Nicky-boy, stop this. Don't think right now. You're thinking too much, son. Go walking, go to sleep, don't run from us again." Tony reached for him, not surprised when he stepped out of contact. "Son." He breathed, reattempting and securing his son between himself, in his arms, and the car. Nicky didn't struggle. Instead, he rested his chin on his father's shoulder and whispered "I'm sorry" to him. "Shhh don't think, boy. Just breathe." He slowly massaged his neck with his fingers. It did nothing to soothe his pounding heart.

His voice was quiet, but an octave higher than normal. "Please, Papa. Let me go."

Tony didn't want to. "Let us be with you. Papa will fix you, my boy. Papa will fix you." He could feel how weak Nicky was, especially when Tony finally released him and had to steady him by the shoulders. Carlo's voice couldn't have been softer. "Nick, let us take you in."

"No, Carlo! Why won't you listen to me? You won't understand this. Ever! I can't help you. I shouldn't have told you, because there's nothing you can do to help me. I know you want to, Pop, and you think you can fix it, but you can't. Just let me deal with this myself! Please!"

Carlo seized his arm, hastily. "Pop picked you up off the floor, Nicky! If he hadn't, how long would it have been until you drank yourself to death, huh? How long,

Nicky? Hey!" He grabbed his other arm, unsuccessful at eliciting a response. "I'll tell you what, either you walk into that house right now or I'll drag your sorry ass in myself. It's your choice, but we are not letting you out of here like that again."

"Get your hands off me, Carlo!" Nicky's blue eyes were filled with rage.

Tony laid a hand on Carlo's back. His sigh lasted a beat and it was in reluctance when he finally said, "Let him go." Nicky took off in a slow pace, feeling no need to make a true getaway. He was welcomed to leave. He hurt his brother, he was an obvious mess, and his family - though God bless 'em, they tried - couldn't handle his behaviour. They all knew it was best to let Nicky be, no matter the risk he was to himself. He wasn't the son they thought they had. They didn't know him. They couldn't help him.

Nicky returned home in so hazy a state that he hardly remembered which form of transportation he even took. Bus. Always the bus. He was just drawing his fragmented thoughts to a close when he saw the sign announcing that they were 12 miles from Philly. He realized this at the same time as W.C. Fields' words came to mind: "On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia." How true.

He would be there within the hour. He would be home within an hour and a half. He imagined he'd be half-naked puking on the bathroom floor by the time two hours had passed.

* * *

\- FRIDAY - 6 AM -

Shawn threw himself down on yet another folding chair in front of yet another detective's desk in the same precinct bullpen. He was passed his already limited ability for patience and sat angrily with his arms folded, praying for someone to tell him he could go home. At this point, after hearing the words "Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?", Shawn was questioning himself on whether he had really heard and seen and felt what he thought he'd heard, seen, and felt.

Detective Marissa Sanders leaned in, placing her elbows on the oak desk in front of her. It was Jonathon who gave her a response. "He saw what he saw. And I believe him." He added in a gruff tone.

"Okay." She said with a frown, clicking her pen against her chest and jotting something down on her legal pad. It was past sunrise and the police precinct reflected such. Fresh faces with neatly combed hair and scrubbed faces emerged from entrances, relieving their tired looking predecessors. Shawn mused, it didn't work the same way for those on the opposite side of the desk.

Mr. Turner, Mr. Hunter, I think we have everything we need. We will send a patrol car to sit outside your building for the next while to keep an eye on things. I think you boys could use some rest. Go on home and if you think of anything to add, please give me a call." The brunette woman said, placing her card between

Jonathon's fingers. Shawn knew what she really meant. They should call if suddenly Shawn remembered he had just been dreaming like she suspected. Bitch.

So they went home. Shawn was looking forward to an undisturbed unconsciousness.

* * *

\- FRIDAY - 2 AM -

Chris pulled up outside of a British Pub that looked like it had gone down under. That Nicky had wandered to this part of town from New Jersey was chilling.

The call he received regarding his once partner's whereabouts was disturbing. The tell-tale sounds of a man puking could be heard in the background. These were over the voice of a man he had never met. "I got your number from this lad who's not feeling so hot. He's been throwing them back all evening. Please, get him out of here. There's only so much I can ask my new employees to clean up before they quit on me."

Chris had just gotten home when Emily passed him the phone. He half expected the news he received to be concerning Nicky's death and took the phone in both hands to control their tremor.

He kissed his fiance goodbye on his way out the door with a promise to explain everything to her once he returned. He didn't know why he promised, especially since it was easier not to trouble her with the information. She didn't like Nicky. She never had and asking her to sympathize with him made Chris feel uncomfortable.

She wasn't underwhelmed to hear that Nicky had been molested by his hockey coach as a child. Nonetheless, she didn't spend a lifetime growing up next to him and so she found no reason to excuse his behaviour. To her, Nicky was a drunk and a strain on her relationship with Chris. He hated to admit it, but Chris realized that he lacked the will to help his fianc? understand. He saw her point too clearly and he didn't know how else to help his friend.

Nicky's head was in the toilet when Chris found his way to the restroom. The man he spoke to on the phone was more than eager to see him and handed him a plastic bag with a convincing "Trust me. You'll need it." "Thanks." Chris said, stuffing it in his back pocket as the man ducked out of the bathroom. "Nick, wrap it up. I'm taking you home."

Nicky coughed violently in response.

"What are you doing back here anyway? I thought your dad was taking care of you."

All Nicky could manage was a shake of his head before he returned it to the toilet and began upheaving the rest of his stomach content. "Nicky, this is getting out of hand. I love you, brother, but I can't keep running out on Emily like this thinking every time that this might be the time you've actually drank yourself to death." Harsh.

This time Chris watched as the smaller man's vomiting ceased long enough for him to gag on what could have been a response. "Alright, that's enough! I can't stand here all night. Get your ass off the floor, man." Chris barked when the puking stopped for longer than a minute. He stepped in behind his former partner and lifted him to his feet by both of his arms. "Oh God!" Nicky spluttered, reaching back to grasp Chris. "Oh, I'm so dizzy. Stop, I need to puke!"

Chris grimaced. "No, just...use the bag, man. I'm taking you home. But if you puke in my car, I'll knock you out, okay?"

He guided Nicky out of the pub holding one of his arms around his neck and the other pinning to his side to prevent him from fighting him. "No, come on. Just leave me here." There were more protests - though, in Italian. The language made little difference to Chris, anyway. He shoved Nicky in the car and sped off for his friend's apartment before he could upchuck all over the upholstery. Unfortunately, this distraction prevented him from noticing the brown-panelled station wagon tailing him.

* * *

\- FRIDAY - 11:45 AM -

Shawn lay very still on his right side for a long time. It was so long that he felt compelled to turn over onto his left side to even out as if he was a broiling hotdog. It was almost noon and not a wink of sleep had come over Shawn since they arrived home from the police station. He was so tired that he was wide-awake. But he was always the kind of kid who rose and dosed in accordance to the sun. It used to drive his mother crazy the way he'd bounce into the living room at sunrise looking for his breakfast. Having spent the better part of the night dealing with her drunken husband, Virna was too tired to deal with a hyper tot. When Shawn finally realized that his needs would never be met by his mother, he began fending for himself. This was the beginning of his shoplifting days.

Shawn sat up in bed and slipped his feet into his shoes. He could hear Jonathon snoring even from across the hall and, though he had no desire for any extra attention from Jonathon, he willed his feet to make little noise as he exited the apartment in order to let his exhausted guardian rest. He thought, at least one of them should be able to.

He knew Jonathon would be pissed if he knew that he left. It wasn't easy getting used to having a caregiver want you around. It was annoying as hell for Shawn. Not to mention confusing. Jonathon was far from strict with Shawn, but when he left without letting him know, he'd punish him by making him stay in. That communicated to Shawn that he shouldn't like to stay in. Only he did. With Jon, that is.

The sun overhead greeted his already burning eyes with an overwhelming glow that made him wince as he stepped out of the apartment building. He rubbed his eyes with balled up fists before he pressed on down the street. He was reminded of countless days that he abandoned the trailer park at opportune moments and raced to Cory's house. It didn't matter what had just been happening at home, because when he got to the Matthew's humble abode smack dead in the middle of Suburbia, all of the ugly remained in the trailer park. It was one hundred times as distant in his mind as the physical distance and that brought Shawn peace for the time being.

Now, Shawn felt like his problems had escaped from the Pink Flamingo. They were oozing all over Philadelphia like an epidemic. They multiplied and his nightmares just got worse. He recalled the look on that lady detective's face when he testified that he was not dreaming when heard someone in the apartment. Nothing could have made that door slam shut and lock by itself. His terror would never be over.

His legs carried him along a less familiar path than one that led him to Cory. He was told not too long ago that there was someone who understood what he was feeling. Someone who could look back and say that all of that bullshit happened in the past. That it isn't happening anymore. That they could begin the healing process or whatever new age crap they believe in. And then, just as fast as it would have taken Shawn to nosedive off of that hospital roof, Nicky disappeared from his life. While Shawn was still a little groggy about whether he made the right choice of refraining from making brain stew on the pavement, he still was willing to believe the man who told him that his life could get better. That eventually, he would grow out of his victim wear and into his big boy life. He just needed to know how and when and where Nicky got off thinking that his job was done here. He hardly expected the detective to be able to wave his magic wand and cause him to be fixed. He knew it would take more than just a little TLC and an after-school-special-style pep talk, but still something drew him to the man that made him believe in tomorrow. Literally, Nicky made him see another day. That wasn't something Shawn could easily forget.

So there he was, making his way up to the building he'd just visited not even 12 hours earlier. With Jonathon. Though it was unlikely that Nicky would be home at noon if he wasn't home in the middle of the night, Shawn had questions and he was approaching Nicky's apartment like behind that door he could find tangible answers to those questions.

* * *

...

UNTIL NEXT TIME. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.

BEST,

MEG


	5. Chapter 5

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!

* * *

\- THURSDAY – 6PM -

"So a station wagon that matches our perp's description was parked outside a porn shop every night an hour before close six to seven years ago. Not seen again until recently until a kid got out of one and ran away." Chris frowned. "How'd you know to ask about kids?"

Conseiko stared at him like the answer was obvious. "Because when you were a teenager and took a crappy old car for a joyride, where was the first place you'd hit?"

Chris had to suppress a smile. "I've never taken a car for a joyride, Jacob."

"Lame." Conseiko scoffed. "You go to a porn store and they let you in because you rolled up in a car and not on your bike. You look older. There weren't that many around when I was growing up, but there was one by the highway. You couldn't get there except for by car, so they figured if you're there you must be at least sixteen."

"Sounds like a solid childhood." Chris chuckled, not surprised in the least.

Conseiko shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I don't believe this car was our guy's."

"No? Think about what I just said. The car was there an hour before close. Every night. No exception. Why?"

His partner was on the ball. "He was an employee. Likely a managing position to be there that often. We need to see there employment records."

Chris nodded. "If we find who terminated their employment in '88 or '89 and check vehicles registered to the bastard, we might just have a working theory on who's got a brown-panelled station wagon stashed in their garage."

Conseiko got to his feet and swung his leather jacket over his shoulder. "Thatta boy, Rivera! I'm heading back to the shop now to butter up Tracy." He was referring to the employee that they questioned at the porn shop.

"Really?" Chris said, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch. "Did you have to phrase it like that?"

"Come on! I worked on that anecdote for the passed half hour!" Conseiko winked. "I'll radio you with what I find out."

When Conseiko returned with the porn shop's records of employment, Chris ran their names through the database and found that not one of them showed any proof of owning a brown-panelled station wagon. Ever. Not now, not in the 1980s when the sales clerk said she'd seen one all the time. _Balls_.

Chris was fuming. He did not want to live in a world where child abductors got away scot-free.

"Have we tried just searching the database for every car in Philadelphia that matches the description?" Conseiko asked, pulling off his tie.

Chris tried not to snap at his new partner. "This ain't my first rodeo. There are seven registered in the Philadelphia region. All of them checked out." _Balls times two._

"Awesome. Looks like we'll be canvassing some more. Great, gotta call my girl and tell her to cancel our reservations. _Again_."

"Don't be so quick to blow off the poor unfortunate girl who's unlucky enough to be dating you. We've covered Philadelphia's porn scene and bars and clubs. We need to visit schools, playgrounds, talk to parents, childcare providers. All of that can only be done in the daytime."

Conseiko raised his eyebrows, appearing pleased with their predicament. "Alright, I'll see your ass bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow." He picked up his jacket off his desk and spun around. "You comin'?"

Chris nodded. "You go ahead. I'm not done with that kid taking off from the porn shop. Gonna take another look at the security footage."

"Suit yourself." Conseiko yelled from the elevator as the doors closed between them.

Chris stayed at the stationhouse up until the bartender at the _Ace is High _phoned him to pick up Nicky off his bathroom floor. After putting Nicky to bed, he thought about returning to his office.

It didn't feel good facing a brick wall in this investigation. Especially after Shawn's case went up in flames. Chris firmly believed that his case could not have gone worse. It began as a child abuse case against his father, then expanded to include his bloodless half-brother. Two arrests – his father and brother – and a suicide attempt later, and they could say goodbye to any sort of protocol that precedence might have set. A lot of terrible shit happened in the world, but Shawn's case was still unique and it had the detectives grasping at straws to keep Shawn afloat.

Chet's court date was looming and Chris' biggest fret was their decision to put Shawn on the stand. Not only was he going to stand in front of a judge and jury and condemn his father, but he was going to be subject to cross examination by the wicked witch of the west, herself, – Chet's defence attorney – Maureen Hill. After everything Shawn had been through with getting attacked by Eddie's friends and almost killing himself, Chris never would have thought that Shawn was ready to take the stand. But it wasn't just those horrible events. He was still tortured by it all. Whether the break in at Jonathan's was real or a figment of Shawn's imagination, the fact that it was another thing keeping the kid awake at night was another reason Shawn's own lawyer, Elizabeth Barclay, should reconsider her approach.

Chris knew that since Shawn recanted his grievance that got Chet arrested for child abuse in the first place, which came immediately before he tried to free fall off the hospital roof, the teenager would have to convince the jury that he wasn't crying wolf and that he isn't crazy. He would have to make the courtroom see what he saw, feel what he felt inside, and bring the jury to come as close to enduring without actually having to endure what Shawn did at the receiving end of violence, abuse, and raw terror during his pathetic existence as a human punching bag.

Shawn's case had only shifted slightly to the side to make room for Chris' new assignment with Conseiko. A boy had been abducted and there was so little to go on that Chris decided a night at the office instead of in bed next to his fiancé was pointless.

What Chris had on his plate involved the unravelling of a teenager's very unfortunate life, the unravelling of Nicky's very unfortunate past, and a tightly wound child abduction case that Chris was wary to unravel.

Ultimately, Chris opted to warm his side of the bed for the first time in a fortnight. He hoped to keep at least his personal life comfortably assembled.

* * *

– FRIDAY – 1PM –

Nicky had finally stopped puking just before noon. Every muscle in his body ached. Every joint felt broken. He was slumped on his living room couch with an ice cube on his pounding head when a knock on the door brought to mind that he would have to be vertical to answer it, which in turn triggered his gag reflexes.

He mentally sifted through a list of those who might've come to antagonize him. Though he had to admit, this list was better titled 'Those who might've come to check his vitals'. And that list of people wouldn't take his failure to answer the door as a sign to leave.

He was only trying for a half-assed signal for permission to enter, so when his "it's open" came out as a croak, he thought even that was too much on his part.

When the door didn't open right away, he regretted saying anything at all. If his visitor were calm enough to linger at the door for a proper greeting, then they were certainly not someone that he felt he could bother with at the moment. Or any moment.

Another knock at the door prompted the conjuring of how to get up from the sofa without vomiting. This knock was faint. A steady two beats and one half a second later than the others. It was a curious knock. A knock which beckoned Nicky's presence at the door not for any reasons of urgency, but because the knocker thought he had less business knocking on that door than Nicky thought he did.

It felt like flying as he made his way to the door. It wasn't even locked when he went to open it and he had to call out to Shawn who had already turned his back on Nicky and on his mission. But the harm was already done.

"Shawn!" Nicky staggered several paces out of his apartment and into the hallway.

If the kid hadn't frozen in his tracks, Nicky would have doubted that Shawn heard him. Keeping his back turned, Shawn spoke: "I shouldn't have come."

Considering the boy's behaviour, Nicky partly expected Shawn to be missing his face when he did turn around like in a scene right out of a horror movie.

"Well, I'm a little surprised you know where I live, but obviously you have a good reason for being here if you came," said Nicky, leaning on the wall in what he hoped was a casual stance.

"You gave me your personal number, remember? Those things are traceable." Shawn said, finally spinning around with his full face intact.

Nicky took a deep breath as he felt the room sway. "Uh, yeah…that explains it. Listen, pal, are you in some sort of trouble? I'm just not feeling so hot and…uh, Shawn?"

A deep frown had set on Shawn's face and, instead of leaving, he moved several paces closer to Nicky. "You're drunk." He said with absolute conviction.

Guilt suddenly overcame Nicky like a bucket of ice water to a near sobering degree. "You know, Shawn—"

"Don't even try to deny it. You don't think I know what drunk looks like?" Shawn's eyes gleamed, knowingly.

"Look, Shawn…Shit. Does Jon know you're here?" Nicky pushed himself off the wall, just praying for a dose of sobriety.

Shawn shrugged. "No. Shouldn't you be working?" He waited. He wanted Nicky to feed him some lame ass excuse. Shawn wanted to hear something that his old man might've told him. He wanted to catch Nicky breaking his promise. Nicky promised to help him. He never promised to behave like his drunken father.

An elderly woman rounded the corner and deterred Nicky from answering Shawn's question. "Alright, why don't you come in?" He asked him, picturing the state of his apartment just seconds before his eyes fell on the mess of beer cans and whiskey bottles littered over the furniture and wood floor.

Shawn allowed himself to be ushered into the apartment and Nicky shut the door behind them.

"Okay, Shawn. I know I owe you an explanation. First of all…" Nicky felt a wave of nausea that he let pass before he continued. "Have a seat." He gestured toward the couch, as he wiped his hand over his mouth, swallowed hard and took a seat himself.

The boy joined him, cocking his head to one side, as though expecting whatever Nicky had to say to be amusing.

"First of all, Shawn, this has nothing to do with you. I've been behaving like an immature jerk these past few weeks. When I told you about what happened to me when I was a kid, well I hadn't told anyone that before. I never faced what happened to me. I am now." Nicky saw a smirk fall over Shawn's face like the kid didn't believe him. "I'm not dealing the right way, though, I see that now pretty clearly." Nicky tried to assure him. It was a weak and awkward attempt.

Shawn finally dropped his gaze. "It's okay." He said after a few seconds. "I wish I could drink. It seems to solve everyone else's problems. At least for the time being."

Nicky wanted to puke again, though this time out of repulsion toward himself. "No. Don't ever let me hear you say anything like that again. Drinking does nothing but make everything worse. You know that. If your pop taught you anything, then that is it, kiddo."

Shawn leaned back on the couch and as his hair fell away from his temple, Nicky saw several scars on his face that didn't look like they'd be going away in this lifetime.

"So why are you drinking, then?" He wanted to know.

"Because I'm an idiot." Nicky affirmed, confidently. "But that's not why you came here now, is it? What's on your mind, bud?"

A frown returned to Shawn's face. "You would know already if you weren't here drowning your sorrows this whole time. Me and Jon came to see you last night. You didn't even answer your door!"

Nicky wished Shawn would just clock him already. "I wasn't here last night." He said, softly. "I swear if I had been here, I would have answered. Tell me what's going on."

Shawn's scabbed lips parted slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You really want to know or are you not a cop anymore? Because I kinda thought you're my friend. Since you haven't been around, I guess you're neither."

It only felt like Shawn had punched Nicky in the gut. The guilt Nicky felt made him wish he'd never answered his door. "I am your friend. Now, will you please just tell me what's going on. You've got me worried here. Are you in trouble?"

Shawn was on his feet in a flash, which is exactly what it looked like to Nicky in his inebriated state. "You don't care!" Shawn hissed in a dismissive tone as he made for the door.

Nicky sat forward with a hand on his hip. "Hey! You didn't come all this way because you think I don't care. I care! And believe me, I'm sorry I haven't been around."

Shawn tightened his jaw as he considered the detective's apology. "You mean it?"

With a bow of his head, Nicky regained the boy's trust. "Now get your butt over here and tell me what all this is about." He almost growled, as an ache in his temple forced his eyes closed. He reopened them in time to catch Shawn eyeing the bottles of booze on the coffee table.

"Did you really drink all of these?" Shawn's voice suggested that he was less than impressed.

Nicky managed a nod, his face burning red.

"My dad drank more but you're smaller than him."

"Yeah, he's a very big guy, isn't he?" Nicky said as the kid opted for a place on the floor facing Nicky on the other side of the coffee table.

He crossed his legs under him and leaned his elbows on the table. "What's it like?"

Nicky swallowed hard. "What's what like?" He asked, slowly.

Shawn wasn't through with discussing the woes of alcohol. "Being drunk. My dad usually got mad, but sometimes he'd get really stupid and it was funny. What's it feel like?"

It struck Nicky that whatever he told Shawn would stay with him for the rest of his life. This is what he'd remember when he went to his first parents-free party or his first college kegger. He'd think of this moment when Jon let him have his first beer. _Or maybe he's already had beer. _But if Shawn wants to know what it's like to get drunk, Nicky had to tell Shawn something that would affect the choices he made when he drank.

"It feels like a part of your brain is working in slow motion. Everything you try to do feels challenging, which is usually only amusing. If you're with good company and have good conversation, drinking might make you feel pretty happy. But never underestimate how low you can get when you're having a shit day. The biggest thing to remember about drinking is that your guard is down. So that means you have to try twice as hard to keep yourself in check. Alcoholism is hereditary, Shawn. My old man grew up with a drunk father and because of it he never had more than one drink. I'm telling you, Shawn, my pop would give me the belt if he could see me right now."

Shawn didn't so much as squirm at Nicky's mention of corporal punishment. If anything, Nicky thought he saw Shawn's shoulder's repose and his expression soften.

"Jon hardly ever drinks anymore. Do you think he thinks I'll steal from him and end up like this?" Shawn asked bluntly, nodding at litter on the table in front of him.

Nicky's eyes burned from emotion and he couldn't explain why. "No. Jon trusts you. I think that's a question meant for him, though." He sighed. "I can think of a question that's meant for you to answer."

Shawn cocked an eyebrow.

"What's happened since I checked into camp inebbreiation?"


	6. Chapter 6

Nicky watched Shawn disappear down the block, feeling guilty that he couldn't drive the kid home. He didn't have to explain. The kid knew from the get-go that his detective friend was the same level of inebriated as Shawn's father had been all his childhood. Nicky surely wasn't going to be Shawn's mentor in this life.

When Nicky made his way back to his apartment, he found his door wide open. Despite being unfit to drive, he felt that he'd at least shifted into the morning after hangover by that point. He was sure he shut his door behind him. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he didn't shut it tight enough and the air pressure forced it open. His front door wasn't quite the same since Chris kicked it down the week before out of concern for him.

He was stalled in front of it, contemplating his next move, when he felt a brisk wind behind him. Suddenly a stiff forearm pressed against his throat and he felt a solid body press against his back.

"You're a shit detective." A deep and raspy voice croaked into his ear.

Goosebumps rose sharply on the back of Nicky's neck and all the way down his spine. He felt his heart pounding in his ears and just when he felt the window of opportunity to manoeuvre his way out of the chokehold his assailant had him in, he felt a hard object against his back and heard the click of the safety catch being taken off a pistol.

Nicky tried to speak, but the pressure on his throat prohibited even breathing. He took to gagging, prompting the man gripping him to chuckle three low, staccato notes. "Idiot." He pressed the gun harder into Nicky's back and forced him further into his apartment. "How about we get you inside, Idiot?"

Nicky clutched the man's forearm, desperately trying to pry open his airways if only just slightly. His attempts were futile. Slowly and without a stroke of luck that one of his neighbours would spot the man taking Nicky hostage in his own apartment, Nicky was edged closer and closer toward his door. He grasped both ends of the doorframe with his fingers almost vibrating with fear.

"Don't even think about it, Nicky-boy," came that damned raspy voice.

Nicky's eyes fell on the security camera at the end of the hall, but before a fragment of hope could register within him, the bastard added: "Disabled."

Suddenly everything went black. Nicky's knees buckled with one forceful blow and Nicky was shoved sharply into this apartment.

* * *

Jonathon's heart was pounding at a mile a minute. No matter how tired he was, he couldn't escape the guilt he felt for letting his guard down. He must only have been asleep for a few hours, but it was long enough to flip his world upside down one more exhausting time. "Shawn?" He called out frantically as he poured into each and every room of his apartment. There was no Shawn to be found. "Goddammit!"

Jonathon pulled on a pair of jeans from off the floor, taking his wallet and his keys, but leaving his shirt behind. He called for Shawn as he barrelled down the stairway and out into the street. "Shawn!"

There wasn't even any sign of the patrol car that the department was supposed to be sending. Jonathan thought angrily that he should've demanded that a unit follow them home. He knew that idiot detective wasn't buying Shawn's story. _And now he's gone! We just got home from reporting the break in and now Shawn's been taken!_

"Shawn!" Jonathon hollered, about to decide on whether to take his bike out to look for the boy.

However, before he could literally set his wheels in motion, a boy of Shawn's stature and wearing a similar denim jacket to one of Shawn's was approaching him from across the street. He jaywalked, pausing in the turning lane before completely crossing the road.

"Shawn!" Jonathon barked and watched the boy jolt alert from several feet away.

"Jon?" Shawn looked guilty as he weaved his way around pedestrians to confront his guardian. "What are you doing out here?"

"What am I doing out here?!" Jonathon couldn't control his volume. He was gathering attention from passers-by but he was far too enraged to care. "I've been losing my mind looking for you, Shawn! Where on earth have you been?! You know not to just walk out on me! You tell me where you're going first, Shawn! That's the rule!"

Shawn's face flushed. "Okay, okay. Take it easy. You're embarrassing me." He muttered sheepishly, as he cast looks at strangers watching them.

"Embarrassing you? Hunter, embarrassment is the least of your worries. Believe me. Get moving." Jonathon growled, as he took hold of Shawn's shoulder. "Now, Shawn!" He added, feeling Shawn begin to resist.

Jonathon marched the boy up to the apartment building, feeling a cool breeze raise goose bumps over his bare chest. He was trembling, but Jonathon had only just noticed that he was cold.

When they got to the front steps, Shawn began manoeuvring his shoulder away from Jonathon. There was a middle-aged couple emerging from the door of whom's attention Shawn was about to attract.

"Enough struggling. We're going inside to talk about this." Jonathon said loud enough for only Shawn to hear, as he put a hand on Shawn's hip – inches away from where Jonathon knew there was a half-healed cut – and prompted him up a step.

"You're hurting me." Shawn said, though still only for Jonathon's ears.

Jonathon's voice was like ice when he fired back: "Don't you dare pull that with me again, Hunter. I am not hurting you. Now get your butt upstairs." Jonathon released Shawn who took off up to the entrance, caught the door before it closed behind the couple, and slid through it before it slammed shut and locked.

Jonathon ran a hand over his face before pulling his keys out of his pocket and smiling politely at the couple as they looked him over.

"We pray for your son, you know." The woman said, abruptly.

Jonathon wasn't sure that she was talking to him until he made contact with her pity-filled eyes. Of course the neighbours would know what was going on with the frequent police visits and news coverage dragging Shawn through the mud. Even though they protected his identity, it wasn't hard to piece together.

Jonathon nodded. "Thank you. Excuse me." He said and raced in after Shawn.

The kid, having already let himself into the apartment, was tearing off his jacket when Jonathon walked through the door. He twined it around his hand and then sent it flying to the wall, knocking the phone out of it's cradle, which fell with his jacket in a heap on the floor.

"Hey!" Shawn's behaviour only worried Jonathon more. "Cool it, Hunter."

Shawn pushed his hair behind his ear with a scoff. "Why don't you 'cool it'? You're the one putting your hands on me. What are you gonna do now? Teach me a lesson?"

Jonathon's jaw all but dropped. Even while taking into account recent events and that the teenager was deprived of sleep for two days and counting, he was still out of line. By now Jonathon expected that the boy trusted Jonathon and knew he would never cause him harm. The comment was a low blow.

"Excuse me?" Jonathon composed himself. "Sit down. Now."

Shawn rolled his eyes, pivoted and leapt over the back of the couch. He landed on his knees on the sofa, pulled his legs out from underneath him, and slowly lowered them to the floor with a pained expression on his face.

"Preferably like a man and not an animal." Jonathon said more to himself and out of annoyance than to serve any productive end. He refrained from joining Shawn on the couch.

"Tell me where you were, Hunter."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Shawn offered with a shrug.

"Noted, but that's not what I asked you, Shawn. Where were you?"

Shawn shrugged again.

"That's not an answer, Shawn!" Jonathon's patience was history.

Shawn looked at him defiantly. Sure, it wasn't hard for Jonathon to imagine Shawn's frustration. Shawn was fifteen years old. He wanted to go out on his own. He didn't want a babysitter. He wasn't used to anyone caring about where he went or with whom. He didn't know what protection even meant. But as far as Jonathon was concerned, Shawn better learn fast if not just for the sake of Jonathon's nerve.

"I went to see Nicky, okay?" Shawn sighed, finally crying uncle. He cocked his head to the side in response to Jonathon's reaction. "Oh don't look at me like that. Nicky already chewed me out for it."

* * *

The lights were so dim when Nicky opened his eyes that he could have believed it was night. However, he knew it wasn't. It was early. 7 a.m. practice had just ended and the clouds outside were heavy with snow.

Nicky's eyes were puffy from crying and he was only just left alone in the empty locker room. It wasn't the coach who was last to leave. It was that older kid that Coach Carter sometimes brought with him. Nicky knew the kid was on the high school team. Probably a junior, maybe even a senior. But something was different about the kid's presence compared to the other times.

His name was Joey. He wasn't very tall—maybe only five and a half feet—and he was small in stature. Sometimes the coach had to do his best persuading to get Joey into the locker room. One time he cuffed Joey across the ear when he protested for Carter to stop what he was doing to Nicky. But usually the kid remained silent, hidden in the darkest corner of the room, and forgotten by Nicky in his state of urgency. Joey always left quickly as soon as the deed was done, his face tearstained and his body limp from submission as if he were the one who was raped. Nicky never considered how true, how poetic until he was working for Special Victims himself. Everyone in that room had been raped by Carter's affliction.

Nicky could still feel and smell the coach on him when he walked home. No shower could cleanse him from the filth that consumed his body. He was disgusting. He hated his flesh – the same flesh that Carter couldn't get enough of. As far as Nicky was concerned, he could have it all. It was useless to him. It was tainted. Even at thirteen he knew that. From his skin to his bones to his soul. He was tainted.

"GOOOOOD MOORNIIING VIETNAAM!"

Nicky startled awake with his heart in his throat. He realized that his hands were tied tightly behind his back and a second later, it became clear that they were tied to the bindings around his ankles.

A man in a ski mask stood inches from his face. He smelt of sex…filth…Carter. He had both of his hands on Nicky. Both hands feeling him tremble beneath his touch.

"It's amazing that you still get scared, Detective." Mr. Touchy-Feely marvelled with his gravelly voice.

Nicky's head hurt. He needed the personal address of 'detective' to remind him that he wasn't thirteen. "Who are you? How do you know me?"

He jerked almost reflexively merely at Nicky's words. "I'm hurt that you don't think about me as much as I've thought about you." He slid his hands down Nicky's chest. "But I'm glad you do. Nobody gets scared quite like you."


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys! So here is another update. It's a short one but I didn't want to make you wait forever again. Thanks for your great reviews and loyalty. I love this story so much still, I just have such little time to write. I'm currently studying for the LSAT while working 2 jobs, so please bear with me.

I hope you enjoy. I still have a bucketload of ideas to carry out and unfinished plots to tie up. I haven't forgotten, don't worry. Let me know if you'd like to see any characters return in the next chapter or have been waiting to find something out! Cheers! xo

* * *

Nicky, still hogtied with his stomach to the ground, manoeuvred himself onto his side. That was the extent of mobility that he had in the restraints. His predicament was not just humiliating and painful, but virtually impossible to get out of. That is, as long as the zip ties were tight enough. And _goddammit_ were they ever.

It occurred to Nicky that whoever his raspy-voiced abductor was, he sure as hell hadn't been lurking in his hallway, waiting for an apartment to commandeer. He remembered finding his door open when he returned from seeing off Shawn. It had been locked. That would mean the guy had just come out of Nicky's apartment. He was in there while Nicky and Shawn were talking, unnoticed. _For how long? Why would he come out just to drag me in? The only explanation is that the asshole thought he was about to be made. _

"Don't think for too long, Detective. You'll hurt yourself." That voice made Nicky seethe. It came from somewhere behind him.

"Who are you?" Nicky was craning his neck in a futile attempt to see anything taller than the arm of his couch. "You know so much about me and I know nothing about you. Well, except that you're a shitty burglar."

The man chuckled and the sound pierced Nicky like a cold needle down his spine. "Like I said, you're not a very good detective. You've given me so much, Nicholas. And when I was done with them, I put them back. You have so many nice things." His voice was becoming less hoarse, as though the croak was only due to lack of speech. _Shit, how long has this creep been in here?!_

He spoke again, this time an octave higher. "I want to have them all, you know. But that's just greedy. They're not all for me. Some things can only be yours."

"What the hell are you talking about? You want my stuff, take it! I don't care about any of this shit."

The man moved back into Nicky's sights. "NO! It wouldn't be right! It would NOT be right! You take it all for granted! You waste! You're not supposed to waste!"

_Okay, nut job! _"Then why the fuck are you doing this? You want me to recycle?"

He moved closer. "No, not recycle. Let's call it, making use of your resources."

* * *

Shawn was asleep on the couch when Eli knocked twice and let himself in. "It's okay, Hunter. Don't get up." He joked, but Jonathon could tell even from his post at the kitchen island that Shawn barely stirred.

"Eli! It's good to see ya." Jonathon grinned, though the action felt utterly exhausting.

"Yeah, I'm glad to see you two are still hangin' in there. I guess your phone just doesn't work. It's only been ages." Eli would only have said it if he were kidding.

Jonathon smirked. "Oh man, haven't you heard?"

"What?"

"Oh buddy, this is cool stuff. Gone are the days when you had to wait for the phone to ring. They work both ways now! _You_ can call _me_."

"You're kiddin'!" Eli beamed. "How ya doin' man?"

The answer to Eli's question was on the tip of Jonathon's tongue. "I'm so fuckin' tired!"

"Shhh..!" Eli laughed silently, but a glance at the couch assured them both that Shawn was still out cold.

Jonathon rubbed his eyes with his palms. "He screams every night. I don't even sleep anymore. I just lay there waiting for the screaming to start."

"He's still having those nightmares?" Eli said incredulously, taking a seat on a bar stool.

"Like clockwork. Unless he doesn't sleep at all in which case I have to worry about him taking off." It frustrated Jonathon nearly to the point of tears.

"Taking off? He still going back to the trailer park?"

"Oh God, I hope not. He doesn't want me controlling him. I feel like he's controlling me." Jonathon hadn't planned on saying any of this to anyone, but he also hadn't planned on this impromptu visit from his best friend. Suddenly, his venting just had no lid.

"Geez, man. And you thought bringing up a teenager would be easy." Eli joked, but didn't smile.

Jonathon dropped his elbows on the counter. "Yeah, next time I have such a bright idea just shoot me."

Eli clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a saint, man, but a mortal one. Listen, Jon. Why don't you go get some sleep? I'll stay here and watch TV. If the kid wakes up, I'll make sure he doesn't go anywhere. Alright?"

"Really?" Jonathon said, though he was already giving in to his heavy eyelids.

"Yeah, man. But afterward I want to hear all about the alleged break-in that happened last night. Your neighbour was chatting me up in the elevator. Asked me how much damage was done."

"None." Jonathon affirmed on his way to his bedroom. "And even less damage control."

* * *

It didn't take long for paresthesia to set in from the top of Nicky's back, down his shoulder, and to his hip. His wrists were burning from the friction the zip ties created.

"What resources am I not making use of?" Nicky needed a plan to cut himself loose. Keeping his masked kidnapper talking was the extent of it so far.

The man was shaking his head at Nicky condescendingly. "You can't be this stupid. You just can't." He sunk to his knees and crawled to Nicky on the floor.

Nicky wedged himself backward, as far away from the guy as he could.

He slipped his fingers beneath his mask and lifted it off his face. He looked down at Nicky with bright blue eyes and hair like charcoal. His lips were a light pink, his skin pale and only slightly wrinkled. He wasn't much older than Nicky.

If this unveiling was supposed to mean something to Nicky, it failed to do anything besides permanently etch the man's lipstick-plastered-face in Nicky's mind.

"Who the hell are you?" Nicky gaped, his heart rate hitching.

The man leaned closer, too close for comfort. "No, Nicholas. The question is who the hell are you?"

"What are you fuckin' talkin' about?!" Nicky was passed frustrated. "What? What do you want from me? Why are you here?"

The man clicked his tongue, disapprovingly. "You act just like them, don't you? Like all those ignoramuses. But you're not like them. You pretend and you waste! You're special, Nicholas! You're one of us and you can't escape it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Again it's been a long hiatus... Hope you guys like this chapter. It's been a while, but I'm rereading my earlier chapters and trying to tie up everything. I'm excited :) **

* * *

"One of you?" Nicky cringed as his captor inched closer and puffed his hot breath on Nicky's neck in an uncanny sort of way. The man had his hand on Nicky's bicep while he lowered himself to Nicky's level and lay down beside him on the floor.

"Just like me." He said softly, raising his fingers to Nicky's face and tracing them along his jaw.

Nicky threw his neck back as far as he could in a futile attempt to skirt the contact. "Well, I don't know who you are so I can't agree. Why don't you tell me your name?" Nicky said calmly.

There was silence to follow. The man remained lying on his side next to Nicky with his knees curled and his eyes piercing Nicky's soul. He didn't move except for the subtle motions of his shoulders as he breathed.

Nicky could hear his own heart pounding and was sure his floor companion could, as well.

Finally, he answered. "You can call me Julian."

"Okay, Julian." Nicky paused. "I've never heard of you."

Julian sat up swiftly with a smile spreading across his face. "Doesn't surprise me. But I've heard of you. And _heard _you."

His words sent a new surge of fear through Nicky. Everything about Julian was familiar and the reason was slowly revealing itself.

"You were something of a celebrity to me when I was young. Do you know what it's like to live in someone's shadow? Well I lived in yours." Julian's smile remained on his face, but the rage in his eyes rendered it sinister.

Nicky's mind was racing faster than his heart rate. "What do you mean? Are you a cop or something?"

Julian laid back down again in even closer proximity to Nicky this time. "No, I teach." He reached for Nicky's hair, tucking a stray curl behind Nicky's ear. It sent ice down Nicky's spine. "And coach hockey."

* * *

Conseiko kicked off from the floor and unceremoniously arrived at Chris' desk in his swivel chair. "Hey, I've been thinking—"

Chris held up a hand. "Let me stop you right there, Jacob."

"Funny." Conseiko said, looking annoyed. "How'd the surveillance footage look at the porn shop?"

"Concerning." Chris took a sip of his coffee. "I'm concerned for the direction America's headed. But I couldn't get a visual of the kid or the license plate of that station wagon."

"Great. Well, I was just going to suggest that we check out the business next store and see if they have surveillance cameras."

Chris huffed. "I think I've got something better. A brown-panelled station wagon was reported missing a week ago. It's registered to a David Carter."

Conseiko's face lit up. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? He's gotta be our guy!"

While a break in the case was just what they needed, Chris could see that there was one missing piece of the puzzle. They were so close that his heart was racing. "Because David Carter died in 1992."

"So who reported it missing?" Conseiko's wheels were both metaphorically and literally turning, as he swivelled back and forth in his chair.

"His widow." Chris said, reaching back and interlocking his fingers behind his neck. "But here's the fun part. She lives in Jersey City. The car has New Jersey plates."

Conseiko jumped up. "Why'd she report it in Philly? It went missing here? What was she doing here?"

Chris joined his partner on his feet when he spotted Jennifer, the secretary, approaching right on cue with a file in her hand. "Rivera, this fax is from the nine-nine." She laid it on his desk, nodded at Chris' thanks, and retreated from the bullpen.

Conseiko crowded Chris' desk as he opened the folder.

Chris' eyes scanned the document even while he growled, "Hey, Conseiko? You want to take a step back?"

Grumbling, Conseiko complied.

"Son of a bitch!" Chris said with a bemused expression. "Donna Carter's police report says she was visiting family in Philly when it got stolen. Her son! David Carter has a son living in Philly."

Conseiko nabbed the file out of Chris' hands. "Let's go pay Julian Carter a visit."

* * *

A hockey coach, a gym teacher, a trusted childcare provider—Nicky would have to admit that he's stupid if he said that he still didn't follow. It wasn't in his head this time. He was sure of that now. It was his worse nightmare realized. Nicky had been right to feel like this encounter was familiar.

What he didn't tell people – what he never told his family, his friends, his girlfriends – was that the reason they felt like they couldn't get close to Nicky was that closeness made him feel afraid. Every touch set alarms off in his mind that made his whole body go stiff. Any time he was left alone with someone, he felt claustrophobic and cornered. When he went anywhere, his level of unease was based on whether he thought people would be able to hear him screaming. If he ever yielded to a woman's invitation to spend the night with her, he could only get off if he was on top and in control.

His entire being was damaged because he had been raped. When he got older, he found it easier to trust his friends and family again. However, he could never trust the feeling of being touched. It never felt right. It always felt violating, dirty, wrong. He always consciously resisted cringing under someone's touch no matter who it was. To feel like that everyday was like being raped everyday. Again and again, unceasing and never letting him forget.

"Julian Carter." Nicky croaked, feeling his stomach turn.

Julian's eyebrows raised and disappeared underneath the hair on his forehead. "So you do know me. Well how 'bout that!"

It _was_ just like that and all the memories – ones Nicky didn't even realize he'd buried and ones that he did – came rushing back as the floodgates gave way. "You were a shit hockey player."

Julian's eyebrows fell into a frown, but he let out a chuckle. "Yes, I was. But I wanted to be just like you."

The room started to spin around Nicky and he was sure he was going to be sick. He shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to keep down what little he had on his stomach. "I'm assuming you know what he did to me. That's what this is all about, right? You wanna show me you're just like me?"

When Nicky reopened his eyes he saw that that damned smile was back on Julian's face. "On the contrary… you're just like me now, Nicholas. Just like us."

"You mean a fuckin' train wreck? Sure, we're twins. Big fuckin' whoop." He paused. "Who do you mean by 'us'?"

"People like you and me who see how special people like we _were _are." Julian climbed to his feet and began circling the apartment.

"You don't mean—"

"Children. Yes."

Nicky couldn't contain it anymore. His nose was soon immersed in a puddle of his own vomit.

Julian didn't show signs of noticing.

"You think I'm a pedophile?! Are you kidding me?" Nicky roared, as vomit dripped from his cheek. "You're a sick fuck, you know that? What the hell do you want from me? I have never hurt a child! My life was ruined because of your degenerate father. I would never do that to someone else."

Julian erupted suddenly in hysterics. "Oh come on! That's why you work in Sex Crimes! You love it. You can't get enough of it. Not to mention that sweet little buddy of yours. Shawn?"

It was no longer nausea that consumed Nicky, but rage. _Julian was Shawn's stalker. He'd been watching them all along._ "YOU STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" Nicky shook with fury. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Julian dropped to his knees beside Nicky and shoved his hand in Nicky's mouth. "Shhhh.. now, now." He said and barely reacted when Nicky bit him as hard as he could muster. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gagged Nicky. Before he could get the fabric in Nicky's mouth, Nicky released an ear-busting scream, resulting in Julian cold-cocking him.

He came to presumably a few minutes later.

The gag was pulled tight around Nicky's head and cutting into the corners of his mouth. It served its purpose. He gagged as he began to panic.

Julian's gruff voice came from behind Nicky. "That won't happen again will it, Nicholas? Next time I'll cut off one of those pretty fingers of yours. Understood?"

When Nicky didn't react, Julian seized Nicky's throat in his large hand and squeezed. In his grip, he forced Nicky off the floor by several inches. "Understood?" He asked again, louder this time.

A moan escaped from Nicky's mouth and Julian accepted it as an answer.

"Bratty and an idiot. They're right, you know. We should never meet our heroes." Julian released Nicky's throat and gripped his jaw instead. He clicked his tongue condescendingly as he forced Nicky's neck to twist and stretch beyond his shoulder. "Look what you made me do to your face! You're ruining everything!"

With the motion, Nicky felt the centre from which Julian's tensions were coming from. He let out a low, frustrated groan, realizing that without being able to delay him with dialogue, Julian's plan would soon come to fruition.

Julian quirked an eyebrow and slid a hand under Nicky's head. "Will you be a good boy?" He asked, fondling the knot on the gag. "I wasn't kidding. I'll start with the thumb." He said, fondling Nicky's left fist in his other hand. "Well, in case you don't believe me…" He suddenly pried Nicky's thumb out of his palm and snapped it back toward his wrist.

Nicky howled in pain and rolled back as far as he could in his fetters. Anything to make himself less vulnerable; he was utterly exposed.

"No. No." Julian said over Nicky's muffled screaming and forced Nicky onto his stomach. "I hope you learned your lesson." He untied the gag and smoothed his hand over Nicky's hair. "Good. Good boy."

"_Oh God!" _Nicky cried, forcing himself to remain still even while he felt his thumb dangling against his back. "Why did you do that?" He barked through gritted teeth, suddenly feeling significantly more furious than fearful.

Julian gripped Nicky's shirt at either shoulder and lifted him high enough so Nicky could see him. His voice was like ice when he growled: "Because you misbehaved. Misbehaving boys get punished." He released Nicky, letting him fall hard on his chin against the floor.

It was becoming clearer to Nicky that this guy had more to complain about in regard to Coach Carter. Even if he wasn't complaining per se, – he had taken up his father's trade in the sexualisation of children – it was certainly possible that he suffered more abuse than Nicky had at those same hands. At least Nicky had been able to walk away.

"Is that what your old man did to you? Did he punish you like that?" Nicky asked. He was a detective after all.

Julian took Nicky's question as an invitation to lie back down beside him. He prodded Nicky over onto his side to face him before he answer: "Little boys are boisterous. They need a firm hand to keep them in line."

Nicky shrugged. "Sure, but my dad never broke my thumb."

"Oh but I know about you Italians. You know the wrath of the wooden spoon…and I just heard you telling Shawn about your daddy's leather belt."

"Those are old fashioned punishments. That's how my father was raised in the old country." Nicky braced himself. "The difference is my Pop didn't rape me afterward."

Julian gave Nicky a quick survey before his face spread into a sinister looking smile. "Well, you know you're going to have to pay for talking to me like that. But I just had an idea."

"Oh yeah?" Nicky tried to sound casual.

In a matter of a few seconds, Julian had climbed behind Nicky and cut the zip ties from around his wrists. But before Nicky could react, Julian had jerked both of Nicky's arms outward and with considerable force, propelled them above their normal range of motion, effectively and agonizingly yanking Nicky's arms from their sockets.

Nicky howled and didn't stop even when his arms fell to his sides with only an overwhelming sensation of numbness.


End file.
